


Hands Behind Your Back (and Out of my Pants, Asshole)

by OverMyFreckledBody



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Police, Alternate Universe - Thieves, Attempted Seduction, Attempted Sugar Daddy Offer, Cop Marco, Detective Marco, Elevators, Flirting, M/M, Marco's kinda a shitty cop tho lmao, Police Officer Marco Bott, Theft, Thief Jean, bc hes fucking lame, but he also makes a super old comment, jeans kinda suave, whos had a real long day the boy baby
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 12:57:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7223245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverMyFreckledBody/pseuds/OverMyFreckledBody
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marco's had a long day, but of course the elevator (and the criminal that he's after, who's in with him) makes it even longer. As bad as he thought it would be, he didn't think he'd ever foresee it including being offered the chance to be a sugar baby.</p><p>From the tumblr au prompt: “okay i get it you’re a great thief and don’t want to go to jail but i’m the exhausted af detective that’s assigned to catch you i stg if you let me bring you in so i can s l e e p i’ll get you a good deal” au</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hands Behind Your Back (and Out of my Pants, Asshole)

**Author's Note:**

> thank you acharya for understanding the pain this gave me. so much pain. oh god am i tired. i didnt even write much, it feels, but fuuuuckkkk
> 
> so this is something ive been working on for a few weeks, aka worked on it for a few hours one night and then suddenly wanted to drop it, only to pick it up rn for Bodt's bday
> 
> Happy Birthday, baby boy. The original au I was planning for this experience will have to wait.
> 
> based off [one of these prompts.](http://one-with-the-horse-senpai.tumblr.com/post/144828418858/here-have-some-aus-as-if-there-arent-enough-on)
> 
>  [music, uhhhh??](https://listenonrepeat.com/?v=qdbqB1zGqAA#Forever_The_Sickest_Kids_-_La_La_Lainey_\(Lyric_Video\))

                To say Marco hated the guy was excessive, but hell, Marco was pretty damn close to crossing that line.

 

                Well, maybe outside of all the black clothing, the mask, and the _robbing_ , he was a nice guy. Maybe he was some kind of Robin Hood who donated the wealth of his riches to the needy. Maybe he was one of those guys who volunteered wherever he could, to repent his sins or maybe just for the hell of it. Whatever type of guy he was wasn’t important to Marco at the very moment because as far as Marco knew, he was the sticky, annoying gum he had to scrape off his nice work shoes last week.

 

                And honestly? Marco didn’t want to be stuck in what was probably the slowest fucking elevator in the world with him, much less without his handcuffs, gun, or radio.

 

                (Where were they? The handcuffs? On the seventh floor, hooked around some desk, something he had to leave behind if he didn’t want to stuck with them. Gun and radio? Strewn somewhere else on that floor, plucked right out of his belt and chucked off like some ticking bomb.)

 

                Really, compared to earlier, now, sitting in the elevator, with Marco glaring at the man who stood in the corner closest to the door, smirking up at him and humming along to the music that was pouring from the speaker in one of the other corners, was downright civil.

 

                At that very moment, Marco seriously gave the thought of carrying around tasers a heavy reconsider.

 

                “You look nice,” the masked man in the corner spoke up suddenly, voice purposefully gruff and probably deeper than it normally was. When Marco didn’t say anything back, he made a motion with his hands and added, “I mean, your hair kind of makes you look like you just had some of the best sex of your life and you look like you’re going to sweat through your shirts, but the tie? Nice touch, I’d have to say.”

 

                Without taking his eyes off of him, Marco pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, as heavily as he could just to show off his displeasure with everything in his situation. “I didn’t really get the opportunity to change before I got the call.”

 

                As he noticed the way the criminal’s eyes kept sweeping over his form, it took a lot to bite his tongue instead of adding on, “So don’t think I dressed up for you.”

 

                Truly, a lot. Unfortunate, it was, that most of the work stress was from making sure he held himself back.

 

                The guy didn’t even have the decency to look even _sheepish_ when he said, “I’m sorry about that. My fault, I’m sure.” And it was, both of them knew as much. Still, as the man’s eyes flicked between him and the still high number that blinked in red towards the roof of the elevator, his words didn’t seem to match his tone or posture.

 

                Marco only tried to glare harder. It didn’t really work or made himself feel better, but he still didn’t feel like talking, too, so he didn’t really have the options at the moment. Though, as penny-colored eyes slipped over his torso again and he opened his mouth to say something else (probably to ask about why he was “dressed up” or something, Marco guessed), Marco cut him off with a scathing, “Did they update the word when I wasn’t paying attention? Because you look more proud of yourself than _apologetic_.”

 

                While his eyes did widen (and oh, how Marco felt a pure surge of satisfaction from that), the thief took only a second, maybe two, before he forced himself into relaxing, crossing his arms over his chest. “ _My_ , Detective,” he drawled, raising his eyebrows and cocking his head up to give himself a certain _air_ as he spoke, “It would seem as if someone served you a hearty piss alongside your cheerios this morning.”

 

                Point taken.

 

                Licking his lips to keep himself from uncrossing his arms and reaching up to swipe his knuckle under his nose – his tell-tale sign that he’s nervous or anxious or just plain uncomfortable, as he’s been told – Marco looked away and focused on keeping the shame from burning on his face. He had been… kind of rude today. But the guy totally deserved it. He was a _felon_.

 

                “No?” Although he didn’t step forward, the man’s foot had moved like he was going to, before making an aborted motion and swiping across the floor on its way to return where it had been standing. He wasn’t as subtle as he likely thought he was. “I’m going to take a shot in the dark and say that something just as sucky happened, though?”

 

                Sucky. What a wonderful adjective.

 

                Marco spared a glance at the numbers atop the closed, metal doors. How were they not already on the ground floor, yet? “Maybe,” he mumbled, teeth biting into his lower lip just before the bitter knowledge that he was making casual conversation with this morally unjust stranger came through and with a last grapple for his resentment that was slipping through his fingers, he spat, “But it’s your fault.”

 

                It would seem that they were both, perhaps, childish twelve year olds.

 

                The man in black choked around a mouthful of giggles and _goddamn it_ , this really wasn’t how Marco planned to be spending his time when he got the call that his “favorite thief” had broken into another building.

 

                Not that most people really get to plan these moments aside from the hopeful “throwing him in the back of a squad car” empty checkbox, but _seriously_.

 

                “I mean,” Marco spoke over his broken noises, trying to ignore the way he was pretty sure his determination was making the guy laugh harder. “It’s just that you’re not really making yourself easy to catch and my whole career-”

 

                Suddenly more sobered up, the other man furrowed his eyebrows and interrupted, “Well, of course I’m not. Who _wants_ to get caught for doing something illegal?”

 

                This man had good points and Marco wasn’t liking them. “Who wants to waste time and resources to chase after some asshole who-”

 

                “That’s not very nice.”

 

                Marco ignored that and pressed on, “-is oblivious to the way he’s affecting others?”

 

                “I’m not oblivious,” the man, posture more tense and less loose than before, took a quick peak at the numbers in red, and his expression darkened when he noticed just how close they _weren’t_ to getting off. “I just don’t really give a fuck.”

 

                Wonderful. With a sigh, Marco closed his eyes, head hanging as he rubbed at his forehead and muttered under his breath. He was _so_ going to get sacked. After all, why would they keep him if all he did was consistently let the bad guy get away from him?

 

                After a few moments of silence, he looked up to see the other staring at him, concern evident in his eyes, even if he had just said he didn’t care. Maybe he was a good guy. Not that the information was going to change what Marco thought of him, but _maybe_.

 

                “Work sounds stressful,” he said instead of another shitty, worthless apology. “Why don’t you just quit?”

 

                Snorting (because, really? Marco wanted to roll his eyes), he sent back, “Why don’t you just let me turn you in? I could get you a good deal.”

 

                “Unless that deal was letting me go ‘cause I gave you a blow job-” Marco choked on his spit. He’d _never_ – “-or something, then I don’t think I’m going to take it. A job’s never worth the jail time I would’ve racked up.” _Okay_ , well, while true, there were definitely other ways that could have been worded.

 

                There was another bout of silence since Marco didn’t really have a response to that, but it didn’t last as long and again, the thief broke it, but when his foot moved forward, he did actually take the step. He moved close enough he was within Marco’s space and as he slipped his fingers into Marco’s belt loops and jerked himself forward so they were pressed together, he slid his tongue over his parted lips and hushed, “I’ve got a job in mind you could take up instead.”

 

                Eyes wide and entirely too surprised with everything to be pleased with how his voice came out thankfully in more than just some kind of wheezing sound, Marco only stated, “I’m not a prostitute.”

 

                The man laughed at his claim, but it was softer than it was before, like the touch his finger led down his chest, following the path his tie made – and oh, _god_ how did Marco get himself into these situations? “You’re funny. I like that, but,” he started with a whisper as his finger teased the tops of his slacks. “I was thinking somewhere along the lines of closer to including that wit. Companionship, too, yeah?”

 

                Marco was such a shitty cop.

 

                He took in a shaky breath, but all that came back out was, “Jesus Christ.”

 

                He got another chuckle from that, deep, darker, and full of throat. “I’ve got quick fingers, as you’ve seen, if that sweetens the deal any?” He _did_ and if Marco wasn’t careful, one of them was going to take a dive down the front of his pants.

 

                Using his own, Marco swallowed down whatever was threatening to bloom inside of him at the close contact and breathless offers and pushed the man away from him and shook his head. He couldn’t get anything out, but that didn’t seem to be much of a problem because the guy nodded and stepped back, even if he had a smirk etched into his mouth and his copper-amber eyes seemed to still be swallowed up by black.

 

                “Just,” he licked his lips and glanced up, surprised (both of them were) at the dinging that signaled they had finally hit ground floor. “Just think about it.”

 

                And as the doors opened, Marco didn’t bother chasing after him, instead only watching as he was left behind, dazed and trying to catch his breath. Well, he told himself as he slammed his head on the metal wall before stepping out and looking around for the stairs. At least he had lots of relaxing paperwork to look forward too.

 

                And, of course, the excuse of running up seven flights of stairs if anyone asked why he was breathless when he called them from the radio in a few minutes.

 

* * *

 

 

                He wasn’t wrong about the excess paperwork, but it turned out not to be so calming. He didn’t really think it would be, mostly just kind of uselessly hoped it would be despite that it never was before. The sleep that night _was_ , however, and whether that had to do with the fact that he was exhausted or he’d thought about a certain gaze and hands on his chest, well, he didn’t really think about that. Maybe the reason he didn’t think about it could’ve been the main reason for that.

 

                He set those thoughts aside when a small, untapped box was placed on his desk in front of him, claiming to have been dropped off with no return address. That _should_ be a good thing, but knowing how these scenarios typically go – as do some of his coworkers, who turned to watch – he was careful about not pressing his fingers too deeply into the box as he opened it, slipping the corners from where they were folded underneath each other.

 

                To his relief, it was only a watch, and one that wasn't counting down either, thankfully. It was a nice one and looked expensive, but he gingerly pushed it aside to get at the slip of a note, something typed up.

 

                In what looked to be the default choices on Word read:

 

                _There could be more where this came from…_

 

                And “signed”, _Your Secret Admirer_. Hilarious.

 

                He took a second just to stare at the words, debating on taking the taking the note or leaving it in the box, before he finally decided to drop it, letting it flutter atop the watch. Pushing the box away, Marco waved someone over and asked for it to be dropped off downstairs to be checked for prints. All of it.

 

                As he watched for a nod and the guy who had dropped off the box took it away, Marco settled into his chair with a heavy sigh. There was no denying that he was going to end up seeing more of this _admirer_ , but Marco knew it wouldn’t be in the way he would prefer it.

 

                Which was, of course, in handcuffs.

 

                (Setting optional.)

**Author's Note:**

> yes, jean would make the joke about the cheerios fight me
> 
>  [my tumblr](http://overmyfreckledbody.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  [where this can be reblogged or liked](http://overmyfreckledbody.tumblr.com/post/146035029658/happy-birthday-marco-for-your-birthday-i-wrote) or whatever you feel
> 
> kudos and comments are blessings and ill love you for them. have a good day my friendo


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